


Shouldn't be a Good in Goodbye

by kiashyel



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 14:45:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiashyel/pseuds/kiashyel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Doctor appears one afternoon more than a decade since last she saw him, Martha Smith-Jones is overjoyed to see her old friend. But she knows him well enough to recognize something is wrong. What she doesn't expect is that the Doctor has come to bid her a final farewell. Set between "Closing Time" and "The Wedding of River Song."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shouldn't be a Good in Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> References to the Doctor Who books "The Pirate Loop" and "Wetworld." Title taken from the Jason Walker song "Shouldn't be a Good in Goodbye"

It was an ordinary day, much like every other day Martha Smith-Jones had lived since leaving U.N.I.T. nearly fifteen years ago. Standing at her kitchen sink, she meticulously washed the lettuce and tomatoes before transferring them to the cutting board on the counter. Mickey and the kids would be back from the cinema soon and she wanted dinner to be ready when they arrived.

Then she heard it. That hauntingly familiar sound that echoed in her dreams. The high pitched groan and wheeze of engines she sometimes thought she heard  just round the corner, that metallic hum that sometimes seemed projected out of her memories to reverberate through dark and empty streets.

She hefted some of her weight onto the countertop and craned her neck to peer out the window, convinced her imagination had gotten the better of her, when she noticed the grass beginning to sway as a blue wooden box, the bluest blue in existence, materialized out of thin air.

“Doctor…” Martha choked out a disbelieving whisper. “Doctor!” she dropped her knife and hurried out the door to her back garden.

Still not trusting her senses, Martha gingerly touched a panel of the TARDIS, felt its sturdy frame beneath her fingers. “Doctor,” she said again softly, reaching out to knock when the door suddenly opened.

She stepped back in surprise when an unfamiliar face appeared. Shadowed under the wide brim of a Stetson, the face was leaner, younger, than the Doctor she remembered. His shockingly boyish features belied the wisdom, the age, the anguish to which his light colored eyes alluded. She’d always known those eyes to be rich and dark, constantly swirling with a cocktail that was equal parts curiosity and anarchy in a container of unfathomable sadness, with a dash of volatile fury just to keep things interesting. They were very essence of madness. Somehow, these eyes were the same but Martha felt herself crushed by the weight of the grief they conveyed.

The man tipped his Stetson and affectionately spoke her name. “Martha Jones,” he said, his voice quiet and oddly musical.

“Doctor?” Martha replied with a quizzical tremor.

His face briefly contorted in a baffled expression before exclaiming, “Oh, yes! The new face. Regeneration. Blimey, I’ve changed a lot since the last time I saw you.” Words continued to trip from his tongue at a rapid pace, “But look at you! You’ve hardly changed at all, apart from the dark circles under your eyes, some graying at the temples and the extra weight on your hips.”

Martha rolled her eyes but still managed a wide, glowing smile. “Gee thanks,” she said sarcastically. “But that’s what happens when you have two children. You get thick in the middle and it doesn’t always completely go away.”

“What about me, eh?” the Doctor gave a tug at his red suspenders and then tweaked his matching bow tie. “What do you think of the new look?”

“I like it,” Martha answered. “Very professorial, very…tweed. It’s very you. Or at least it seems to be. Although, I’m not sure about the cowboy hat.”

The Doctor straightened the hat self-consciously. “Ah, yes, a friend gave this to me but I like wearing hats now. Especially Stetsons. Stetsons are cool.”

“Right…” she drawled in an amused tone. “Come inside and have a cup of tea. Mickey and the children will be back soon; you could stay for dinner.”

Martha saw the conflict in his expression. The Doctor wasn’t a man who stayed put, not even for a cordial cup of tea. He preferred everything to be on the go. The Doctor preferred to be running, always running. Staying put led to boredom and the Doctor avoided boredom at all cost. Running was always better. Hearts racing, adrenaline flowing, lungs burning for air, that was the way the Doctor lived.

Yet she saw the weariness in those ancient eyes, the longing for respite. Martha shivered. She’d never seen such a look, as if all the centuries of his life had finally caught up to him. Suddenly, she grabbed his hand and held it tight, just as he had done the first day she’d met him, racing along corridors and  fleeing the Judoon platoon on the moon.

“Stay,” her voice was gentle but pleading. “Just for a little while.”

The Doctor’s countenance softened and he smiled. “Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. I can’t very well leave without saying hello to Mickey, can I? After you, Dr. Jones,” he gestured for her to walk on.

Still holding his hand, Martha led the way into her home. “So, Doctor, not that I’m not thrilled to see you, but the sky isn’t about to fall is it? The Daleks aren’t staging an invasion or anything?”

“Oh Martha, the sky isn’t scheduled to fall for at least another millennia. As for the Daleks, well…they’re always planning invasions, aren’t they?” the Doctor said as he began rummaging through cabinets and drawers in Martha’s kitchen, then cautiously sniffing an apple in the fruit bowl before experimentally pressing the buttons on the coffeemaker and twisting knobs on the toaster.

Martha took the Doctor by the shoulders and firmly forced him into one of the chairs circling the table.

“So why are you here?” she asked.

Focusing his attention on the homework spread over the table, the Doctor answered, “I’ve been knocking around on my own for awhile. Just wanted to pop in for a visit. The solar system? This is a bit simplistic, isn’t it?”

“That’s Ann’s schoolwork and she’s only eight,” Martha told him. “Bit obsessed with the stars, she is.”

The Doctor looked up from the papers in his hand and grinned affectionately at his former companion. “I wonder where she gets it.”

“Oh stop it,” Martha chided and went back to the task of making tea.

“Tell me all about your little family Martha. I want to know what you’ve been doing since the last time I saw you.”

“Since you saved Mickey and me, you mean?” Martha retorted. “That Sontaran would’ve killed us both if you hadn’t whacked it on the probic vent with that mallet. Well, killed the three of us.” Off the Doctor’s raised eyebrows, Martha explained, “I didn’t know it at the time, but I was pregnant with Owen.”

“Your son?”

Martha nodded. “Owen, after Dr. Owen Harper of Torchwood,” she said and watched the Doctor instinctively bristle at the mention of the word. “I really liked Owen Harper,” she told the Doctor, a hint of nostalgia in her tone. “ He saved my life and he died for it. Outside of Torchwood, no one knew who he was or how often he helped save the world. So when our son was born, I couldn’t think of a better way to honor Owen’s memory. I think you would’ve like Owen. He reminded me a lot of Jack.”

“And how is old Jack? Or does he answer to the Face of Boe these days?” the Doctor chuckled.

Martha threw back her head and laughed heartily. “No, it’s still just Jack, thank god.”

“The TARDIS was having difficulty pinning him down. Any idea where he might be?”

“No, I haven’t heard from him much lately. He comes round now and again, for the kids’ birthdays and such. He is their godfather after all. But we haven’t seen him in a few months. He gets in trouble if he’s on his own too long. Does that sound familiar?” she narrowed her gaze at the Doctor, who promptly buried his face in the mug of tea she offered.

“Any fish fingers and custard?” the Doctor asked.

Before Martha could reply, the front door swung open and Mickey’s voice rang through the house.

“MARTHA!”

“In the kitchen, luv,” Martha announced and three pairs of feet stampeded through the sitting room.

Corralling his children in front of him, Mickey appeared at the kitchen threshold with a frantic look in his eye.

“I saw the TARDIS in the back garden,” Mickey said. “Is everything OK?”

“Everything’s fine!” the Doctor exuberantly exclaimed and flung his arms open wide. “Mickey! Come here you!”

Without waiting for Mickey to react, the Doctor embraced him tightly.

“Doctor?” Mickey spoke out but the Doctor shushed him.

“Hush,” the Doctor released his hold. “Let me just get a look at you. Yes…a bit of the same wear and tear as Martha. A few wrinkles, the odd gray hair and a little flab around the middle, but otherwise very much the same Mickey.”

“Oi, you’re one to talk. This is the third face I’ve seen you with. Do you just make yourself younger each time you regenerate?” Mickey critiqued.

“No, I have no control over my regenerations,” the Doctor said. “If I did I would have been ginger centuries ago.”

“What’s with the bow tie? It looks a bit stupid.”

“No it’s not. It’s cool,” the Doctor defended.

“Mum,” a soft spoken voice interjected. “Is that really the Doctor?” the young Ann Smith asked, carefully eyeing the strange madman in a bow tie and Stetson standing in her kitchen.

“Yes, it is,” Martha answered. “Can you and your brother remember your manners enough to say hello?”

“Hello, Doctor,” Ann and twelve-year-old Owen greeted the Time Lord in unison.

“Hello Owen, hello Ann,” the Doctor shook Owen’s hand then knelt to the floor so he was eye level with Ann. “I hear you like the solar system,” he said to the girl, who gave a shy nod. “What’s your favorite planet?”

“I like Mars,” Ann responded.

“The red planet!” the Doctor smiled. “Though it’s not technically red. More of an ugly brown color but I don’t suppose the brown planet sounds as exciting. Has your mother ever told you about the planet Sunday?”

“There’s no such place!” Ann objected.

“Oh but there is,” the Doctor assured. “When we went it was all swamp and mud and...”

“I haven’t schooled my children in _all_ of our travels, Doctor,” Martha interrupted. “Some of those stories should probably wait until they’re older.”

“But _Mum_ …” Owen and Ann whined.

“You heard your mother,” Mickey said. “Now go wash up for supper.”

Obeying their father, the children shuffled out of the room, casting another awed look at the eccentric extraterrestrial as they went.

“So…” the Doctor drawled awkwardly. “Are you two still in business? Smith and Jones, alien hunters extraordinaire?”

“No, man, we got out of that after Owen was born,” Mickey said, helping himself to the remaining tea in Martha’s mug. “I mean, we still do the odd job now and then, but only one of us goes. That way, if something happens one of us will still be here for the kids. These days we’re mostly consultants. Found ourselves cleaning up after your messes a time or two.”

The Doctor blushed at that but said, “But look at you now! Lovely home, lovely family. It’s all a bit dull, but the home and hearth life was never for me.”

Martha said, “We all grow up sometime Doctor. We can’t run with you forever.”

With Martha and Mickey’s persistence and the pleading of Owen and Ann working against him, the Doctor agreed to stay and have dinner with the Smiths. Once the meal was finished, Martha banished the Doctor and the children to the living room while she and her husband cleared the table.

One by one, Martha passed the soiled dishes to Mickey who loaded them in the dishwasher, pausing occasionally to watch the Doctor playing games with Ann and Owen in the other room. With a quick flourish of his sonic screwdriver, the Doctor had willed an orchestra of animated toys to parade about the carpet, the cacophony of sirens, bells, and whistles mingling with the trio of laughter.

“I’ve never seen the Doctor like this,” Martha admitted. “I’ve never seen him act so…so…”

“So much like a nine-year-old?” Mickey supplied after adjusting the dishwasher settings and turning it on.

Martha giggled. “Yeah, I guess. It’s just a bit different than I’m used to seeing him.”

They moved to the threshold of the den, marveling at the sudden quiet, then stopped to listen to the tale the Doctor told Ann and Owen. “Yes, the time loop. That is a good story. Your mother was amazing. We landed on the starship _Brilliant_ and there were robot stewards and never-ending platters of cheese and pineapples. _And_ there were people sized badgers. Talking badgers!  _Pirate_ talking badgers!”

Mickey turned to Martha. “You know, when I saw the TARDIS sitting in the garden, part of me got excited. Like, for an instant I was ready to see time and space again.” He paused. “But then part of me was worried the Doctor had come to take you with him. I was afraid you were going to leave me behind.”

“No chance of that,” Martha said kindly and stretched onto her toes so that she could plant a kiss on his lips.

“Eww…human kissy…things,” the Doctor said uncomfortably. “Maybe I should be going.”

“Sit down, boss,” Mickey told him. Then he gestured to the children, “Time to finish your schoolwork. Let’s go.”

Grumbling loudly, Owen and Ann followed their father’s order and marched to their separate bedrooms.

“Now, Doctor,” Martha said, joining him on the sofa. “Tell us why you’re really here. You never just pop in for a visit. What’s happening?”

A long silence hovered in the air before the Doctor sadly replied, “My time is running out. I have to die. My death…it’s a fixed point in time; it has to happen. I dropped off the Ponds so I could have a bit of a farewell tour, say goodbye to everyone, to my…friends.”

“When?” Martha managed to choke out. “When does it happen?”

“Just past five p.m. on April twenty-second, two thousand and eleven.”

“But that was…” Mickey’s eyes narrowed.

“Never mind, dear,” Martha told him, affectionately touching his knee. “It’s timey-wimey.”

After another long moment, Mickey spoke. “There must be something we can do.”

“No, Mickey. It has to happen.”

“Doctor, surely in all the universe there must be someone who can help,” Martha protested. “All the people you’ve met, all the lives you’ve saved…”

The Doctor shook his head. “There’s nothing Martha. But I’ve lived long enough. Over a thousand years now. It’s time for me.”

“You’re absolutely certain there’s nothing?” Mickey questioned.

“Please, Doctor,” Martha begged. “Please, just let us help you.”

“The universe is better off without me wreaking havoc everywhere I go, leaving messes for other people to clean up.”

“Why do you get to decide that?” Martha demanded angrily. “Doctor, you may be the last of the Time Lords but you’ve never been alone. You have so many of us, friends, companions, allies – who all love you. Who are you to decide that we’re better off without you?”

Hot tears streamed down her face as she continued. “Rose absorbed the heart of the TARDIS, and she ended up in a parallel world. Donna created the meta crisis and saved the world then lost all her memories. Jack, he rebuilt Torchwood in your honor and it cost him Ianto. Mickey and I became soldiers, we fought to change the world for the better and it nearly cost us our lives.

“We have all sacrificed so much because we believe in you, Doctor. Who are you to destroy our faith?”

A tense silence hung palpably in the air before Owen’s voice pierced the quiet.

“Dad! Can you help me with maths?”

Wordlessly, Mickey rose from the chair beside the sofa and went to assist his son.

“Martha Jones,” the Doctor finally spoke. He reached out to take her tiny hands in his. “You saved my life so many times. But this time, I can’t be saved.”

More tears slid from Martha’s dark eyes as she said, “From the moment they were born, I’ve been telling Owen and Ann stories about you, the same stories I told all across the world. I always wanted them to know that no matter how bad things get, the Doctor is somewhere making them right. What do I tell them now, now that you’re going off to die?”

Surprising her, the Doctor pressed his lips to Martha’s forehead then rested his own on the spot he kissed.

“You tell them to believe in you. You, Mickey, Jack, Amy, Rory…my wonderful companions. You’re all the best of me. Tell Ann and Owen to believe in all of you,” the Doctor whispered. “That’s why I’ve done this farewell tour. I wanted to remember all the best bits of my life and the best bits are all of you. After everything I’ve sacrificed, you all were my reward. And now, after all the sacrifices you’ve made, let your reward be the knowledge that you’ve each given me the happiest moments of my life.”

The Doctor rose abruptly and turned away from Martha’s gaze, though she was certain she heard him sniffling back tears of his own.

“Well!” the Doctor’s tone was suddenly cheerful. “I’ve got one more quick stop to make and the clock is ticking.”

“Have you seen Donna?” Martha inquired, wiping moisture from her cheeks.

“She’s my last stop,” the Doctor replied. “I just want to take a peek from a safe distance. No interaction.”

“But since you’ve regenerated, shouldn’t it be OK now? She’s never seen this version of you before so there’s less chance of her remembering.”

“Don’t want to risk it,” the Doctor said. “Best if I just hop back in the TARDIS and…”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just walk down the street?” Martha suggested. When the Doctor gave her a perplexed expression, Martha said, “Oh, I thought you knew.”

“What?”

“It was Jack’s idea. He thought that if I lived near Donna, I could reach you if something happened to her. And don’t worry…we’ve never spoken. I keep tabs on her but I’m very discreet.”

A wave of tension seemed to lift off the Doctor and he expressed his gratitude. Wrapping a shawl around her shoulders, Martha led the Doctor out the front door and into the cool air of the autumn dusk. They quietly strolled for nearly a block before Martha stopped and seated herself on a park bench and beckoned the Doctor to join her.

“There she is,” Martha pointed to a cluster of playground equipment. “There’s Donna.”

The Doctor’s breath hitched in his throat when he saw his former companion, his former best friend. She was trimmer and more athletically toned but there remained an air of the old Donna Noble brash confidence.

Then, a little girl with pale milk skin and hair as fiery as the sunset sky leapt off of a jungle gym and into Donna’s arms. Their dual laughter rose harmoniously and the Doctor smiled.

“Donna has a daughter,” he stated, proud of his friend and her happiness.

“Yep,” Martha said. She waited a moment before saying, “She named her Jenny.” The Doctor gave her a sharp, painful glance but said nothing.

Finally, as the night descended, the Doctor sighed. “Come along Jones. I have a date I can’t miss.”


End file.
